Of Pointed Shoes and Liberal Arts
by thenamesiggykirkland
Summary: It could only be in nostalgia of his childhood days with his mother, Alfred decided. He hated ballet, after all, so why would he purposefully force himself to sit through three hours of it for any other reason? Perhaps it was a good thing he did, though, for where else would he have met the mysterious male ballerina that had somehow captured his undying attention? USUK
1. The Russian Ballet

Alfred had never liked ballet. One of the clearest memories he held from his childhood was that of his mother forcing him to sit through shows that went on for hours because his father had either refused to go or had claimed that he 'had work to do'. He remember hating it, loathing it. Alfred had, since he was little, had trouble sitting still, after all. He was an active little boy, preferring to play sport in the garden or roam the paddocks on their farm than sit and watch television, practice the piano, read or whatnot.

It was in an act of nostalgia then, he supposed, after having left his parents in America to do his undergraduate degree in England, that he did it. He couldn't think of any other reason why. He hated ballet, and yet, he found himself in one of the stalls in the Royal Opera House at Covent Gardens, waiting for the visiting Russian Ballet to start.

Admittedly, he'd always held a lot of respect for ballerinas and thought them brilliant athletes. It was a well known fact that ballerinas were some of the fittest people in the world, after all. Alfred admired that they were able to keep their bodies so lithe and fluid, and yet exert so much energy at the same time.

That didn't mean he'd ever _liked_ ballet though. Nevertheless, there he was, at the Royal Ballet in London.

It was of no surprise, of course, that his eyes started drooping shut after ten minutes or so of the show starting. There weren't even any female ballerinas to keep him interested, owing to the fact that it was an all male cast (who had an all male cast in a ballet?).

As the young American started questioning his sanity for opting to watch a ballet instead of clubbing with the rest of his friends, Alfred's eyes focused on _him; _the most beautiful man he'd ever seen. Beautiful in all senses of the word - he looked so pleasant, his face lit up in the tiniest smile, and his hair was like... wheat glowing in the sunshine, if Alfred were to be particularly poetic. The man's skin glistened in the ethereal glow of the lighting onstage, and if only Alfred could touch it for how soft it looked. His body was small and lithe, feminine in its angles.

What was really striking about the man, though, were his eyes. They were like gleaming emerald gems in the darkest of caves, lighting the way for all who needed. And as poetic and cliché as that sounded, as much as Alfred felt disgusted with himself for thinking it, he couldn't help but think that it was completely and utterly true.


	2. An Ethereal Beauty

_Disclaimer: No matter how much I would love to, I honestly don't own Hetalia - Axis Powers, it was solely created by Himaruya Hidekazu._

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For the remaining three hours of the show, Alfred's eyes followed the ethereal beauty. He was playing the part of the princess, Alfred supposed, because how else could you describe someone wearing a glittering tutu? It _was _rather fitting, to be honest, for the man was as graceful and elegant (not to mention as beautiful) as any princess Alfred had ever seen. It was a testament to the man's talent that Alfred found himself feeling disappointed whenever the ballerina left the stage, and anxiously awaiting the moment that he came back onstage.

Towards the end of the play, the protagonist and the _'princess' _(as Alfred had started calling him) performed an intimate dance, embracing tightly and dancing together romantically, never breaking eye contact. In that moment, Alfred started wondering if he should take up ballet just to do that kind of thing with the man.

The show ended to much applause and whistling, and Alfred was pleased to see a glowing smile on the _princess' _face when it was his turn to bow. Strolling out of the theatre at an easy pace, Alfred decided that he wanted to meet the man. Getting backstage probably wouldn't be easy, he knew, but Alfred was willing to try. He knew that this man was something special, and he needed to talk to him, to know all about him, to hear him speak and laugh and watch him as he danced just for Alfred.

It was strange; Alfred felt as if he could watch the man dance all night and day and never complain about having to sit still for so long (so contrary to his personality)! He felt that he could live off this man's company alone, that he'd be happy never speaking to or seeing anyone else for his entire life as long as he had this man with him. He'd never felt this way about another person (especially someone he hadn't even _met_!), and he didn't quite understand why he wanted to know all he did and why this particular male ballerina seemed so important compared to everyone else in his life.

So it was, with a fading grin, that he reached the stage door to see a security guard by it and an obvious lock on the door. Alfred had no backstage pass, and he wasn't part of the cast or crew. There was no way he was getting back there, and he knew it.

However, he was determined to meet with this ballerina (for reasons that he was still unsure of), so he stayed put, prepared to wait all night for the man to exit.

Alfred waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And then before long it was getting onto midnight and people had stopped coming out of the stage door altogether! The security guard had long since left and Alfred had even tried opening the door, saddened (but not surprised) to find that it was locked.

Now he was leant against the door, arms on his knees and head laid on them, cursing himself for being unbelievably naive.

"Why do I have to be so damn stupid? Thinkin' this is destiny or some other shi-" He was cut off as the thick metal door swung onto his back and had him sprawling on the floor, not after a howl of pain had left his mouth, though.

In his dazed, slightly concussed state, Alfred faintly heard the sound of a surprised gasp (not that he really cared, what with how much pain he was in). The American sat up, rubbing the back of his head that was painfully throbbing and opened his eyes (when had they closed?) to see a shock of blond hair, startling emerald eyes and a black pea coat and scarf hugging tightly around a slim figure.

His jaw dropped.

An eyebrow (thick, but cute on this beautiful creature's face) raised and an averagely high, lilting English voice questioned (not quite angrily, but rather bordering on annoyed), "- the bloody fuck are you looking at, homeless git?"

And with that, all of Alfred's previous thoughts of the elegant ballerina practically shattered into pieces.

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_Thanks to _**_empressvegah_**_ for being my beta this chapter! _


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